


they wish they had love like this

by skvadern



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Autistic Character, Canon Asexual Character, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Fluff, Master/Pet, Mentioned therapy, Multi, Pet Play, Polyamory, Sexual Petplay, Tenderness, Threesome - F/F/M, au where the world is somewhat good sometimes, calling out georgie barker for her very obvious Type, jon and melanie are trying guys be proud of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skvadern/pseuds/skvadern
Summary: From deeper into the house, a bell jingles, and Georgie smiles.Everyone's having a Bad Day. Thankfully, they've got an excellent coping mechanism.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Georgie Barker/Melanie King/Jonathan Sims, Melanie King/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 10
Kudos: 177





	they wish they had love like this

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to everyone in the discord servers im in for enabling the shit out of me. because of them i have Way too many ideas, and they are all so very good. this was edited while i was quite drunk so my apologies, address all complaints to drunk michael.  
> title from gay sex by be steadwell, which fucking bops

Everything is too much, far too much; colours too bright and noises too loud. Jon had run out of the energy he needs to _be more lovely_ hours ago, and he’s been biting his lips bloody ever since. He doesn’t need Tim’s raised eyebrows or Martin’s eggshell-walking to know his face has been fixed in a scowl for hours.

At five past four, just as he’s finished filing a particularly ridiculous statement – a damn _voodoo curse_ , is the Institute actually a joke to these people? – in the Discredited section with no small amount of vicious pleasure, Sasha strides into his office. Completely ignoring his glare, she grabs his briefcase off the floor and starts filling it with papers and scattered belongings.

“What the- Sasha!” Jon demands, rising sharply to his feet. His assistant levels him an unimpressed look.

“Jon, you’re done for the day.”

“Nonsense, I still have-“

“Jon.” Sasha puts the briefcase – perfectly ordered, damn her for knowing him so well – down on the desk and folds her arms. “You’re ten minutes from actually murdering someone, and we’re not going to help you hide the body. You and Melanie are going home, _now_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon snarls, before her words register. “And what’s the matter with Melanie, anyway?”

“She got into another row with Elias,” Sasha says darkly as she bundles up his laptop charger. “No horrible spooky mental torture this time, thank God, but she’s furious.”

“Good Lord,” Jon says blankly, before immediately beginning to kick himself. He’d been stuck in the office all day, hadn’t even _noticed_ – what sort of a bloody partner is he? “When did this happen?”

“Just now. Basira’s got her, she’s helping her pack up – don’t go and help, you’ll only get in the way. You two need to go home and wind down.”

Sasha is right, as she tends to be, but he still glares at her as he yanks his coat out of her hands. Thankfully, she’s used enough to his moods that she just stares him down for a second before snatching his laptop and stowing it away.

“Go get your girl, Jon,” she says, and despite taking care not to touch him, she chivvies him out of the office with remarkable efficiency.

They run into Melanie and Basira in the hallway, and even Jon can read Melanie’s mood. She’s _fuming_ , almost throwing off sparks, . Basira has an arm around her shoulder and is speaking to her softly, but Melanie shrugs her off when she sees him.

“There you are!” she snaps, voice high and stretched out over her rage. “We’re getting the fuck out of here, don’t you dare argue with me.”

“Oh, trust me,” Jon replies, letting her seize his arm and drag him away, “I’ve already been steamrolled.” Abruptly, the pressure of her hand on his skin hits him _wrong_ , and he jerks it back.

“What?” Melanie snarls, twisting to face him.

“My goddamn hypersensitivity, that’s what!” Jon hisses. They pass a bright florescent light and he has to squinch his eyes shut, wincing at the spike of pain. “They’ve been acting up all day and my skull’s about to split open, thanks _very_ much for asking!”

Melanie gapes at him for a second, before speeding up her pace. “Hurry up,” she calls after her, “I want out of this _fucking_ building.”

Jon hurries after her, if only so he can strangle her out of range of the lobby security cameras.

When they get out onto the street, Melanie screeches to a stop, half-collapsing against the nearest non-Institute wall. He follows her and settles beside her, putting his hands over his eyes. Thankfully it’s a cloudy late afternoon, and the light is soft and dim. The ever present traffic noises of the city just on the edge of manageable now he’s not surrounded by buzzing walls and his co-workers scraping their chairs and tapping their pens. They lean in silence for a few minutes, and Jon fancies he can feel the frantic, fractious anger draining out of him into the bricks, mixing with all the centuries of soaked-up pollution.

“I’m sorry,” he says, when he trusts himself to speak again. The tone is all wrong, completely inappropriate, but if Melanie doesn’t know how difficult it is for him to moderate his voice – no, that’s unfair. She does, he knows she does. “I shouldn’t have been so defensive, not when you’ve had such a crap afternoon.”

Melanie lets out a huge, gusting sigh. “Don’t, okay? This one’s on me. You’ve been looking all pinched all day, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. No matter how pissed off I am at that _prick_.” She cuts herself off and takes a few more deep breaths. When she’s a bit calmer, she bumps her foot against his, a there-and-gone point of pressure he’s pretty much always able to tolerate. A weary grin twitches at Jon’s lips, despite everything, and he manages to bump her foot back.

“Christ,” Melanie mutters after a second, “we’re shit at this.”

“Hmm,” Jon disagrees. “I’d say we did alright just now.”

“Yeah, bet our therapists will be proud.”

“You joke, but I know mine will be.”

“Hey, maybe there’s hope for us yet.” Melanie pushes off the wall, stretches her joints. She inclines her head in the direction of Pimlico Station, but Jon flinches back.

“If I have to use the tube right now, I will actually have a meltdown and it will be in public.”

Melanie nods, and stomps over to the road to hail them a cab.

Jon spends most of the journey to Georgie’s flat – the flat that he and Melanie are definitely not stealthily moving into when Georgie isn’t looking – with his head in his hands. The rumble of wheels over tarmac reverberates through his bones if he lets it, and it’s almost like white noise. Melanie doesn’t speak, and when he’s able to zone in enough, he notices she’s doing her breathing exercises.

Moving his foot takes monumental effect, but he manages to tap it against hers again. Her soft huff of acknowledgment cracks some of the spiked shell of strung-out irritation that’s formed around his emotions.

Melanie and Jon’s relationship has been a long time in the building. It’s not that they don’t get on well, because half the time they do. The other half the time, they end up rubbing each other raw, sharp edges grinding into each other. According to Georgie, it’s because they’re basically the same person – something both he and Melanie had strenuously objected to.

At least, until Melanie had smirked wickedly and said, “So what you’re saying, Georgie, is that you have a really, _really_ specific type.” Georgie had blinked at her for a moment, before realisation dawned, and she’d buried her face in her hands while Jon had laughed uproariously.

Jon’s under no illusions – without Georgie in the mix, he and Melanie would have strangled each other years ago. Thankfully Georgie _is_ in the mix, and between time with her, getting the Slaughter-cursed bullet out of Melanie’s leg and many, many difficult apologies, they’ve managed to build something solid. Something he can be proud of.

And, of course, the kink helps.

Melanie pays the taxi fare over Jon’s objections, and they stumble to Georgie’s front door side by side. She’s not back from work yet, had texted their group chat earlier to say she wouldn’t be for a few hours, so they let themselves in. The Admiral tangles around Melanie’s legs, then Jon’s, purring with the ecstasy of having two of his humans home early. Jon wants to scoop him up and bury his face in warmth and softness, but he doesn’t particularly want to cry just yet.

Neither of them have to discuss what they’re going to do. As one, they make a beeline for the bedroom, and once there start shedding clothes. The Admiral hops onto the bed and watches as they strip to their underwear, the flat warm enough that it’s not uncomfortable. One of Jon’s favourite things about Georgie’s place is how much of a heat trap it is.

Melanie unclasps her bra with a sigh of relief, practically ripping it off and tossing it onto the chair she’s slowly been covering with her clothes. She strips off her pants as well and lobs them into the laundry basket. Jon considers stripping, but he’s not really feeling like it at the moment, and leaves his boxers and vest on.

Going to what Georgie calls the ‘naughty drawer’ – mostly because of the faces he and Melanie make when she does – he picks out his and Melanie’s kneepads. Melanie scowls at him when he lobs hers onto the bed beside her, but she sighs and tugs them on nonetheless. Georgie has Rules about using knee protectors. The Admiral, disturbed by flying protective gear, fluffs his tail and stalks off downstairs.

“Get out me my tail?” Melanie asks. She’s still get the edge of a bite to her voice, but he can see her shoulders are already loosening. While Jon roots around in the drawer she ducks into the bathroom, presumably to clean up.

When she comes back out, Jon has to catch himself from staring. Melanie isn’t as unselfconscious in her nudity as Georgie, and there’s a difference to her gait that Jon finds fascinating. A bit more movement in the hips, a way of holding herself like she’s become suddenly aware of her body. He hands her the red-tipped tail plug and the lube, and she climbs onto the bed, lifting her hips to tuck a towel under her arse.

“Let me?” Jon asks tentatively. Or, well, tentatively for him. He wants, suddenly, to be closer to this spiky, beautiful woman he shares his life with. They’ll be curled all round each other soon enough, of course, but that’s in the headspace. He’s warm and comfortable enough now that he can stands to touch, and the thought of Melanie softening under his hands warms him even further.

Melanie studies him for a second – he can’t quite read the look on her face – before humming and holding out the lube.

It had been so strange, the first time he’d done this for her. But it’s been long enough now that the strangeness has faded, for both of them. Now, when he slicks his fingers and rubs one against her, this softest, most vulnerable part of her body relaxing under his touch, all he feels is quiet contentment.

Melanie bites her lip as he applies gentle pressure, shifts her hips. She’s tighter than normal, her body struggling to relax, but when he glances up at her she waves a hand. “Keep going, it’s fine.” She takes a few deep breaths and, as he watches, she loosens every muscle group one by one, letting herself melt into the bed piece by piece.

When Jon finally manages to slip a finger into her, curling it slowly into velvet-soft heat, Melanie sighs softly, wiggling her hips. “Oh, that’s kind of nice, actually.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Jon mutters, and she smirks at him.

“You know what I mean. Stop slacking, get on with it.”

Despite her instructions, Jon finds himself practically dawdling. Admittedly, some of that is to piss Melanie off – neither of them have ever been able to help teasing the other. But it’s also incredibly relaxing, the slow movements in and out of the heat of her body, eased by the lube and the way Melanie opens up under him, slowly but surely. Seeing the tension slowly unspool from her, the muscles of her face flickering as her body sinks into the bed and onto his hand, is uniquely satisfying.

On impulse, he leans in and butts his head against her knee, rubbing his forehead against cool, soft skin. Melanie’s hand comes up and tangles in his hair, pulling just enough to send those lovely sparks zipping over his scalp.

“Another one,” she tells him, voice gone hazy and heavy, and he adds a second finger. It’s barely difficult now, Melanie is so much more relaxed, and he fucks them in and out of her lazily. The hand in his hair tightens and loosens rhythmically as Melanie sighs and whines a little, her hips rolling with his movement.

By the time Melanie finally kicks at his leg and gestures for the tail plug, they’re both most of the way into the headspace. Enough that Melanie _mewls_ , high and lovely, when the metal slips inside her. Jon melts a little to lie on top of her and she _mrps_ contentedly, wiggling so that they’re curled even further around each other.

Jon tucks his head into her neck and lets all his human worries and concerns drift away.

~~~~~

Georgie is a little annoyed she had to hear from Sasha that her partners were having a shit day at work, but that’s probably G-d’s punishment for her hubris in shacking up with those two. Emotionally constipated, the both of them. She’s got a pretty good idea of what she’s going to find when she gets in – that, or a murder scene. She really hopes it’s not a murder scene. Having to deal with the cops was bad enough the first time.

When she opens the door, Melanie and Jon’s shoes are by the shoe rack – Melanie’s thrown haphazardly, Jon’s placed neatly. The Admiral doesn’t come running, but that’s okay.

“Guys?” she calls, but isn’t surprised when she doesn’t get an answer. She toes her shoes off and dumps her bag, forcing her shoulders down from where they’d been tensed. The stress and irritation of the day won’t come off her that easily, but just being home helps a little.

From deeper into the house, a bell jingles, and Georgie smiles.

When she slips into the living room, she has to shrug her jumper off almost immediately. The gas fire is on, pumping heat out into the room, and a tangle of cats are curled on the soft rug before it.

Melanie’s arse is turned to her, giving her a good view of smooth golden skin and the black and red tail nestled between her thighs. Jon has his vest and undies on – shame – but he’s wearing the little paw mittens he’d been too embarrassed to buy until they’d ganged up on him, which is adorable. They’re both adorable. Her lovely kittens.

The Admiral is of course perched on top of both of them, in the prime spot to get as much warmth as possible. They’ve all long since accepted that the Admiral is the boss of this house.

Melanie lifts her head from the pile first. Her face is soft and delighted, utterly beautiful with all the stress stripped from it. She mews loudly and scrambles out of the pile, barrelling towards Georgie on all fours and practically slamming into her legs. Georgie wobbles, clutching the doorframe, and laughs. She can practically _feel_ the weight of the day slide off her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, bending to scritch Melanie’s head. “I missed you guys today.” Melanie blinks up at her, rubbing her cheek against Georgie’s jeans before twisting and crawling back towards the warmth of the fireplace.

Jon raises his head sleepily from the nest of cushions and blankets he and Melanie have made, and gives her an affronted glare. Still, his eyes squinch closed when Melanie curls back up with him, shoving at his arms and legs until they’re both arranged to her liking. He even starts purring – a sound that reminds Georgie strongly of a malfunctioning boiler, but one she still loves to hear.

When Georgie wanders over and lowers herself heavily to the floor, perched on a cushion left at the outskirts of their little nest, Jon even raises his head and rubs it against her thigh. She gives him head-scritches as well, grinning at his weird rusty purring.

Not to be left out, Melanie meows loudly until Georgie sticks her other hand in her girlfriend’s thick hair, and soon Georgie is completely occupied with dispensing pets. All three of her cats seem to be slowly slithering into her lap, although the Admiral has to admit defeat after a few minutes and settle for wiggling into the hollow between Jon and Melanie.

Georgie lets her back slump, the vague buzzing annoyance of the day sliding off her shoulders like water off a duck. It’s so nice to just be here, with the people she loves clustered lovingly at her feet.

“And who could be mad when they’ve got you lot?” she coos at them. Jon _mrps_ tiredly and butts his head into her thigh again.

After a little bit more petting Melanie stops wiggling and bounces up. She tends to be a higher-energy cat than Jon, who makes up for his terrible sleep schedule by taking as many naps as the Admiral when he’s in pet-space. Melanie will nap sometimes, but she’d often rather play.

Georgie relocates to the sofa, Jon following her with the sniffy air of a cat that just so happens to be going the same place you are. When she’s settled and Jon’s curled up in her lap, she grabs a toy from the side of the cushions, you unwinds the little felted fish from its stick and casts it out.

Melanie cocks her head at it, wiggling her arse, and pounces. Georgie, who is kind of a bastard sometimes if she does say so herself, flicks the fish out of Melanie’s way. _That_ nets her a vicious glare – Melanie’s tail would be twitching like anything if she had a proper one – but Georgie dangles the fish again and all is forgiven.

They keep playing for about twenty minutes before Melanie tires and collapses on her back, wiggling luxuriously against the carpet. She smiles brilliantly up at Georgie, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Georgie tells her, but she still leans down to pet Melanie’s tummy. That’s what love will do to you, she supposes.

Sure enough, her arm gets caught between Melanie’s hands and feet – Georgie spares a thought to be glad she’d banned Melanie’s claw-rings in the house. Melanie lets go of her pretty quickly, and Georgie pulls back and lets her lounge. She turns her attention to where she’s been absently running her fingers through Jon’s greying hair. He’s puddled half on her lap, face relaxed and blankly blissful. She smiles down at him and he squinches his eyes at her. She copies the gesture, and gets another slow blink in return.

Even before he’d known about this particular kink of his, Jon had preferred slow blinks to most forms of affection. She remembers sprawling out on her shit uni halls bed, watching Jon highlight his way through some textbook. He’d looked up to see her staring, and his face had been expressionless at first, like it so often is. But then he’d done that slow blink, and it’d taken her a second to realise what it reminded her of. When she had, she’d been entranced.

Melanie and Jon like to tease her sometimes, about having a type. Georgie, who grew up in a house with half a dozen strays, has since accepted that if she has a type, it’s cats.

From the floor, Melanie meows and presents her tummy again. Georgie rolls her eyes affectionately, but when Melanie just meows louder, she sighs and gives in.

This time, Melanie allows the petting; arches into it even. Her purr is slightly less realistic than Jon’s, but it works to convey her mood. Her skin is so soft, so lovely to pet, and Georgie finds her hand travelling downwards. Melanie actually wiggles to accommodate her.

“Is that what you’re after, then, kitty?” she asks. Melanie just blinks up at her adoringly.

How can she resist a face like that? Georgie slips off the sofa, muttering an apology to Jon, who just wiggles himself behind a cushion. She settles between Melanie’s legs, and her sweet kitten wiggles delightedly.

Georgie reaches down to tweak at her tail, and Melanie sighs deeply, arching her hips invitingly. Moving to lean over her, Georgie runs her hand up the velvet-soft skin between her arse and her cunt, before dipping a finger in experimentally. Melanie is silky-wet, heated in a way that sends a little pulse through Georgie’s own cunt.

Melanie likes it rough, left to her own devices. She’d like it if Georgie slammed into her with three fingers and fucked her into the floor, bit and bruised and ruined her. And yeah, sometimes that’s nice, but right now Georgie’s in charge, as she so often is. And she likes to take it _slow._

Too slow, according to Melanie, but Melanie isn’t talking much right now, and her sweet kitty knows what’s good for her and doesn’t make _too_ much of a fuss. Georgie rubs her hard little clit slow and gentle with her thumb, covering it in Melanie’s own slick so there’s barely any friction. She dips a finger into Melanie’s cunt – Georgie might have pretty thick fingers, but one isn’t nearly enough for Melanie. Her kitten whines and mewls, trying to tip her hips up to get more, but Georgie’s other hand lands heavy on her tummy, petting her and pinning her to the floor, till all she can do is squirm and take it.

She teases Melanie for what feels like ages before sliding another finger through her wetness and into her cunt, filling her nicely. Melanie actually _squeals_ at that – not a very catlike noise, but Georgie will take it. She fucks her kitten slow and deep, every little whimper and mewl fuelling the melting heat between her legs.

Melanie’s flush is slowly travelling down her neck and over her gorgeous, heaving chest. Taking pity, Georgie skates the hand holding Melanie down up to pull at her nipples, rolling them tenderly and pinching quick and sharp. All those lovely little noises get louder and needier, and Melanie starts rolling her hips into Georgie’s thrusts – slowly, much slower than she’d probably like, because she’s such a good kitty. Georgie tells her this and the wide-eyed look of blissed out love she gets for it makes her feel so powerful and wanted it _aches_.

She lets her hand trail back down Melanie’s belly, scratching ever so slightly, and slips it under her other hand to curl around the base of the tail plug. She _yanks_ on it, and Melanie comes with a beautifully uninhibited yowl, slamming her hips down onto Georgie’s fingers, jerking and twitching violently through her release.

In her afterglow Melanie melts into the floor, every muscle loose as warm water. Georgie scoops her up, once again delighted to have gotten together with two terminally small people, and deposits her on the sofa. She immediately shifts to pretty much lie on Jon, who grumps and wriggles but doesn’t try and bite her.

Georgie settles back onto the sofa, sprawling on the cushions and letting her cats wiggle themselves back into her lap. She grabs a tissue off the coffee table and wipes off her hand, smiling when the Admiral decides the humans are done with their weird games and hops up to get comfy in the crook of her arm.

Georgie grabs the remote and turns the telly on, flicking it to a nature documentary. Sometimes her cats get hilariously fixated on those, and once Melanie even twitched like she was about to fling herself at the telly before Georgie all but sat on her. Now, though, they seem content to doze and soak up the pets she dispenses.

What with the day Sasha had said they’d had, they’ll probably stay down till bedtime, but Georgie doesn’t mind. She’ll just order takeaway and hand-feed them, let her heart fill up with love and the intoxicating sense of power that caring for her gorgeous kittens always gives her.

What’s a little stress, when she can come home to something like this? As shit as so many parts of their lives are these days, Georgie still can’t help but consider herself blessed.


End file.
